The Definition of Special
by Alex L. Kerr
Summary: Sam and Dean meet an unlikely friend in the midst of difficult times. Teenchesters, bigbro!dean, awesome!sam, OC, schmoop, angst. Definitely no longer a two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

Writer's Note: TS is still on my mind but I thought I'd offer this two-shot. Next chapter I'll post either tomorrow or the next day. :)

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"_Round and Round / I'm not gonna let you change my mind / til you show me what this life is for_" - Round and Round, Imagine Dragons

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Dean flicked his cigarette absently, a redundant gesture since his bare hands were trembling from the cold - and ashing the Marlboro medium - anyway. He squinted as a wave of chilled wind tore through the empty field from his spot on the dented, graffiti-ed bleachers. He was pale under the diminished, ghostly afternoon light, his freckles standing out on his cheeks and nose, eyes hollowed out, dark smudges of exhaustion underneath.

It was three pm on Friday, overcast and drizzling, somewhere around forty degrees - thirty with wind chill. They'd been dropped off in a suburb of the Windy City in October. Dean knew the gusts weren't going to let up anytime soon.

The sky continued to look menacing with darker and darker clouds rolling in too. The junior high was just beyond, a cement monstrosity that looked more like an above-ground bomb shelter or prison than a school for ten- to fourteen-year olds. Sam would be getting out soon. He knew where he could find Dean. Then they'd walk "home."

Dean allowed himself a small shiver and shrugged his leather jacket closer as he surveyed the grim landscape. He was doing his best not to think about anything. Just let his existence blend in with his dreary surroundings. He had no music to listen to; no escape from the sounds of brutal wind blowing and whistling through open air. No escape from his own thoughts.

So he tried not to think.

He took a puff of his cigarette, enjoying the sensation of inhaling. His one miserable act of rebellion even though John knew and didn't care. It felt like rebellion though: in a life centered around surviving, this one small self-destructive thing felt good.

He had a mundane problem for once.

_See Sammy?_ Dean thought. _I can wish I was normal too._

Dean smiled bitterly to himself, shook his head, and needlessly ashed the cigarette again. He checked his watch. Three oh-eight.

Maybe he'd walk into the junior high's lobby to wait for Sam this time. At least it'd be warm.

Dean took another puff considering it; exhaled and dismissed it. Didn't feel like getting up, he told himself, but really he just wanted to chain smoke, weather be damned. He wanted the emptiness, the isolation, the weather's metaphor. Just a few minutes to wallow, brood, self-destruct like any other teenager. He really didn't have the energy to do much more than that anyway.

Dean had been... invited... to visit the principal's office during his second to last class when he'd been caught asleep at his desk. Upon waking he hadn't been able to think of an excuse fast enough, his late night having been the result of missing the bus after tending bar 'til last call downtown thirty miles north - where he wouldn't be recognized.

_Thirsty Thursdays_, Dean thought, unconsciously clenching his jaw and giving a severe flick to his cigarette with his stained thumb. He circled his thoughts around the gritty, hole-in-the-wall bar and its clientèle. Working class alcoholics whose sponsors would sometimes visit, order something virgin, and try to convince them to attend a meeting in the basement of the church across the street.

Jack had been there too last night. Dean hated seeing Jack. He bore an uncanny resemblance to what he imagined Sammy would grow up to look like - long brown hair, dimples, innocent yet haunted eyes - and he'd walk in, knock back shot after shot, chasing each with a generous swig of PBR, and happily announce things like, "one is too many and a hundred's not enough," and "alcohol is my enemy but the Bible says I should love my enemy, right, D?"

Dean had almost hit his breaking point. Almost begged Jack to stop calling him "D" - Sam and only Sam called him that - while he was picking him up off the floor during last call. The guy always hit a plateau but last night he'd tearfully confessed his life story about having been on the straight and narrow before he'd lost his wife and daughter in a car accident.

Dean had been pretty messed up after that. Distracted, he'd lost the time having a cigarette in the alley out back. His hands were shaking then too but for a vastly different reason.

Dean sniffed and rubbed his eyes against the wind. He realized he'd smoked down to the butt and flicked it out over the dead and frosted field grass. He looked at his watch again. Three fifteen.

_Jesus, time is fucking slow, _Dean thought as he sighed. He rubbed against the thick denim jeans covering his thighs and knees with his hands for warmth. Looking around and seeing only one small child walking the path along the field, he gave up any pretense and hunched over, pressing his palms together between his thighs. He'd unfreeze his fingers before having another cigarette.

He let his mind wander again despite best efforts to think about nothing. It was pretty impossible to do anyway. Sam insisted he was smart; he knew he probably was. It's just that he'd realized long ago he had too many other things to do than be smart. Intelligence counts for nothing if it won't get you weather-appropriate clothes - Dean shuddered and pulled his jacket tight again - or meals - shit, he'd have to ask Sam what he'd made himself for dinner last night - or shelter - he'd be paying Lars, the manager, sometime tonight with the earnings he'd made yesterday (er... this morning).

Dean felt his stomach growl at the thought of food so he pulled out another cigarette. Shitty but convenient that they served as appetite suppressants. He fiddled with the lighter and realized he hadn't cut his fingernails in awhile. They'd collected a lot of dirt and grime underneath. Shitty and _in_convenient that cigarettes wreck circulation: his hands and fingers were pale white. Zombie hands, he joked as a deflection whenever Sam would notice. He lifted the lighter up to the tip of his cigarette, about to light it.

"Hey."

Cigarette dangling from his lips, Dean startled and twisted his gaze to find the boy that'd been walking the path along the field. The kid was looking up at him from the ground to Dean's left, holding the straps on a dirty, beat-up red backpack.

Normally Dean would tell anyone to fuck off - even if the kid was in junior high - but as Dean studied the kid's features he realized this was different. Dean tilted his head, confused, and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth.

"Hey yourself."

"It's... It's cold out here," the kid said simply, pulling the straps of his backpack tighter.

Dean bit back a comedic "Captain Obvious" retort. He wasn't sure if the kid would get it. Besides, there were more important things to say.

"Yeah it is," he agreed mildly, lighting his cigarette and coming down a few benches to reach the bottom rung. He stayed seated so the kid could look down at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Sssch-School says cigarettes are bad."

"They are," Dean replied glibly, "where're your parents?" Dean asked as he exhaled, squinting with judgment as he noticed the kid was shaking like a leaf. The jacket looked like some kind of heavy wool - perfect for this weather if it wasn't secondhand and moth-eaten: holes littered the sleeves and front, rendering it relatively useless in conserving heat.

"She-she's coming."

"When?" Dean grilled. He wasn't used to interacting with these kinds of kids but this one didn't seem fazed in the least.

"Soon," the kid replied quickly, like it was a script.

Dean looked at his watch, confused... and annoyed on the kid's behalf.

"Why isn't she here now?"

"Running... late."

Dean took a puff of his cigarette.

"She pick you up here?"

"No. I just saw you."

Dean rolled his eyes skyward, trying to make sense of the kid's words.

"So..." he drew the word out, then looked back to the kid. "Does she pick you up at the end of this path?"

"Yeah!"

Dean turned around to look behind him towards the end of the path. He saw neither a waiting car nor a woman that could be the kid's mother.

"I don't see her," Dean said, squinting past the wind.

"Me neither," the kid replied. Dean turned back to look at him. The boy held his arms against his chest and just continued to shiver as he stood looking down at Dean. Dean took a puff of his cigarette and asked another question on his exhale.

"Don't you have an adult to... you know... take you to see your mom-"

"-she's _not_ my mom," the kid interrupted, his tone indicating that he thought he was being helpful.

"Well whatever doesn't the school have somebody to take you over there?"

"No," he replied. Dean tilted his head with confusion. "They left me."

"Alone?" Dean asked, anger mounting.

"Yeah," the kid replied dully. The kid kept shivering.

Dean just stared at him wondering what the real story was but after a few seconds he dismissed it as the kid's tremors grew.

"For fuck's sakes," he murmured to himself, standing up. "What's your name, kid?" He asked as he pulled an arm out of his jacket.

"Os...Osc...Oscar," the kid barely replied, now stuttering from the cold. Dean rolled his eyes at the sound. _How could any parent... nevermind. Whatever_.

"Oscar take your backpack off for a second," he asked, pulling his jacket all the way off. Dean shivered in the chill but came to terms with it and took another puff of his cigarette.

"Why?" Oscar asked, the first hint of suspicion in his voice, but more like because he, for whatever reason, thought Dean wanted his backpack.

"I want you to wear this," Dean gestured to his jacket.

"No no it's... it's okay," the kid stuttered.

"It's not a request, it's an order. Take off your backpack, Oscar," Dean appropriated the stern voice he'd used ever since he'd been a big brother.

"Okay," Oscar replied easily and Dean almost smiled. If only Sam were so pliant about being taken care of.

Dean reached out and pulled the kid closer to help him with getting the backpack off, vaguely aware that kids like Oscar were rarely very fast with coordination tasks.

"Whoa," Oscar said, stumbling towards Dean and letting him shake his lightweight burden off his back. Dean set it on the lowest bleacher.

"Open your arms like you're flying," Dean said, somehow managing to sound gruff despite the childish wording. Oscar giggled and opened his arms. Dean clasped his cigarette in the corner of his mouth so he could use both hands to pull his jacket onto Oscar's left then right arm. He tugged the front together and zipped it up, cigarette still smoking out of the corner of his mouth.

"Th-thanks," Oscar said as Dean stepped back and pulled the cigarette from his grinning lips. His jacket reached the kid's knees, the sleeves a good several inches beyond Oscar's fingers. Yeah he was cold and he was feeling the drizzle seeping into his shirts already... but Oscar wasn't shivering anymore so he figured he was allowed to laugh: the kid looked like a little bad ass elf or something.

"You're laughing at me," Oscar pointed out.

"Yeah," Dean said, unwilling to lie, and threw his cigarette away. He grabbed Oscar's backpack from the bottom bleacher. "Here you go, Munchkin," Dean added, smiling as he handed the kid his pack. Oscar held it to his chest instead of trying to put it back on his back. Good call. Once he got the kid to his guardian he'd be asking for his jacket back. He really didn't have money for another one.

Dean sat down again on the bleachers, crossing his arms in a huddle to conserve his own heat now. He turned to check the end of the path again but he didn't see anyone. He figured maybe the woman hadn't been told Oscar was released from school early... or... something?

"People... shouldn' make fun 'a me," Oscar piped up. Dean swiveled around.

"I wasn't making fun of you," Dean said pointedly.

"You were laughing."

"Yeah but I wasn't being mean," Dean replied simply.

"Okay," Oscar replied, looking down at the ground, clutching Dean's jacket to him. Dean looked at his watch. Three twenty-five. Awesome.

"I'm Dean," Dean said evenly, putting his practically frozen hand out for a shake.

"Hi Dean," Oscar said, extending his hand. Dean chuckled as he found the kid's hand through the folds of his jacket's sleeve and shook it.

"So listen. I'm waiting for my brother. In five minutes he'll be out here and then we can all walk over to the end of the path with you. Sound like a plan?"

"Cool."

Dean gave a sideways smile.

"Cool."

That's when Dean heard the bell ring in the distance from the junior high. Perfect timing.

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Writer's Note: Thank you for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	2. Chapter 2

Guilt and concern and anger warred in Sam's mind as he watched the clock tick the minutes down to three-thirty. He needed to get out and see his brother. Dean had gotten in around six-thirty that morning looking haggard. He'd grunted an angry greeting, a warning against asking questions, then proceeded to make Sam's lunch. He'd snapped, swearing to God that Sam needed to "back the fuck off" when Sam had tried to insist he could make it himself.

Sam knew Dad had been due back a little over two weeks ago. Knew every single strain on Dean right now was _because_ of Dad. But god _damn_ it - Dean _needed_ to let Sam carry some of the weight - at the very least his own.

But it didn't matter. What Sam really needed to do was get out of school as soon as possible. Make sure there was absolutely no delay in getting Dean into a bed so he could sleep because he was pretty sure his older brother had missed the last bus of the night, tried and failed to sleep on the stop's bench like a homeless person (maybe even _with_ the homeless people), and then taken the first bus Friday morning at five. Sam was pretty damn determined that Dean wouldn't work again tonight even if it meant calling the bar to report his true age and get him fired. He didn't care anymore - he was pissed that Dean was doing this to himself. More pissed that Dad was doing this to Dean. On a general note, pissed that their situation, while not exactly common, still lacked an element of surprise.

Sam was thirteen and while he was small for his age he made up for it in his competency in training and knowledge their father put them through when he _was _around. Sam was obviously no longer in need of such stringent protective measures as the ones Dad had in place for them: leaving for weeks on end with only Dean as his guardian. As much as Sam hated hunting, he had to acknowledge that he'd rather be with their father during an investigation than ever have to realize Dean had been gone all night because he'd been sleeping on a bus stop bench.

When Dad got back, Sam was going to talk to him. He wouldn't mind if Dean was there too since Sam knew Dean _wanted_ to hunt with his father. Sam was pretty confident Dean would back Sam's arguments. _From here on out_, Sam would say, _Dad, you gotta take us with you on these hunts_. They'd fight it but he bet he'd win in the end.

Sam's gaze hadn't moved from clock ticking above the classroom door but his mind turned back to the time, registering three twenty-five. He tried to look lazy as he took his textbook and legal pad off his desk and packed them into his backpack.

"Going somewhere, Mr. Walsh?"

Sam looked up like a deer in headlights, squinted in confusion, then vaguely pointed to the clock.

"It's like... three minutes 'til-"

"That's three minutes of class which is still in session, Sam. Get your things back out."

Sam's jaw clenched as he fought against rolling his eyes. While everyone else subtly started packing their things away now, Sam was forced to pull his book and notes back out onto his desk. The problem with being a straight-A student was that some teachers would get to a point of insecurity where they felt like they were playing favorites with him. As a consequence, they'd do stupid shit like this for a couple weeks just to make a point.

"See me after class, Sam," Mr. Grier said, frowning, and Sam had to resist a groan. He exchanged a glance with Kate, his lab partner, who was cringing on his behalf, as Mr. Grier resumed his lecture. Apparently the man was dedicated to teaching up to the very last second even though he was fine wasting that time to openly reprimand one of his best students. Take that, logic.

The bell rang and it seemed like the entire room lifted up as one, all students having been alerted by Sam that they were on countdown to the end of class. Sam kept himself in check as he packed up as fast as he could while everyone passed him. Kate threw him a quick soft 'bye Sam' before she took off too. Ready and set, Sam nearly tripped on the leg of his desk to get out and join the pack hurtling towards the door. He approached Grier's desk first though and made his bid for freedom.

"Mr. Grier, I'm really sorry I packed up earlier than I should've - it won't happen again. But if it's possible, could I still get going? I really need to leave-"

"Ev...ery...one wants to leave early on Fridays, Sam," Grier drawled, not even looking up to meet Sam's eyes.

"No but like I _really_-"

"Sam." Grier stopped and looked at his student with one eyebrow raised. Sam met the expression with wide, slightly desperate eyes. He really wanted to reply, "Mr. Grier," with the same tone of voice. Instead he took a second, trying to figure out a solution as the last kids were filtering out of the class.

"Look, Mr. Grier, if you want to give me detention, that's fine. I'll totally come in Monday morning and-"

"Sam, no," Grier interrupted, now genuinely annoyed, and Sam fell silent. If Grier wanted him to beg he would but it seemed like Grier wanted a soapbox. Sam would have to play audience to it. He had no time but...

"Sam, I'm not appreciating your attitude right now-"

"-I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't interrupt me," he replied and Sam nodded militantly, keeping his eyes fixed on Griers'. "You're an excellent student, Sam, but as my class is the last class of the day for not only you but the rest of the class it is important that everyone be diligent in keeping an eye on the clock and _honoring_ the timetable that constitutes a full school day."

"Yes, sir," Sam nodded.

"Now. While you were watching the clock, were you honoring the timetable?"

"No, sir," Sam replied evenly, betraying nothing.

"No, you weren't," Grier said solemnly. He said no more, weighting Sam's infraction with so much silence Sam wasn't sure if he hadn't just killed a man.

Grier watched him, knowing he was wasting Sam's time, and Sam got the distinct impression that he was waiting for Sam to fuck up and look at the clock again.

Instead Sam just held his teacher's gaze, doing his best kicked-puppy impression. Dean said it _always_ worked: why wasn't it _working_?!

More was needed, Sam figured.

"I'm very sorry, sir," Sam channeled his very real sense of helplessness into sounding like genuine contrition. "It won't happen again," Sam promised, trying to affect his voice with the solemnity of Grier's last words.

Grier sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"It better not," he eyed Sam.

"No, sir," Sam shook his head. He was nearly shaking - he'd been kept here for like five minutes now.

"All right," Grier sighed again. "I'm not giving you detention. Just a warning. Remember this conversation though, Samuel," Grier said and it sounded like a threat. Sam held his poker face.

"I will, sir, thank you," he replied, again his tone level and respectful. He waited to be dismissed and Grier ticked his head at the door authoritatively. Sam returned the gesture and turned to walk calmly through the door.

Once out of Grier's sight, Sam started racing past the few students still milling around the halls and stationed at their lockers, jumped every other stair to get to the ground floor (narrowly avoiding tripping again over the too-long cuffs of his hand-me-down jeans), and reached his own locker. He was efficient but frantic as he rotated the lock's dial and opened the door with a loud clang. He threw his books and binders into his bag, put his slightly large puffy mustard yellow jacket on (_Goodwill, three dollars, thanks Dean_), and proceeded to pull about four or five large empty plastic water bottles he'd saved from the cafeteria over the past week from the bottom of his locker. He stuffed two into his bag, kept the zipper open, and rushed over to the drinking fountain to fill them all.

Their motel, the Windy Side Inn, was on the verge of structural collapse. The plumbing was a joke but after having lived there for a little over a month, neither Sam nor Dean were laughing anymore. They needed water to drink and they really couldn't afford purchasing these new weird fad things of 'designer' bottled water that was priced at five dollars per liter.

Sam had taken the chore of keeping them hydrated, knowing Dean didn't really carry his backpack around these days as part of his whole 'cool badass senior' routine. That was a joke too but they were in dire straits - coming down on Dean on that whole thing now would just be mean. Plus Sam was taking every opportunity to help their situation - help Dean - where and when he could. _Barring making my own lunch though apparently_, Sam thought, rolling his eyes but a small smile played on his lips. Reluctant affection seemed to be Sam's most consistent sentiment towards his brother lately...

But now thinking of his brother reignited his anxiety to get out. He'd started filling the last water bottle when his thoughts turned back to Grier, who had been renamed in Sam's head to, 'Fucking Asshole.'

He thought about Fucking Asshole's last words to him - the strangely menacing vibe he'd given off as he'd told Sam to remember their conversation. He even used Sam's full name at the end of his sentence.

Sam mouthed, "what the fuck was _that_," his thorough bafflement over Fucking Asshole's behavior would've been comical were his circumstances different. Sam wiped the hair out of his face as the last bottle filled to the brim. He capped it, threw it into his bag, and jogged out into the lobby. When he got there he realized he was already overheating in his jacket. Glancing around, he saw the front desk's lights were nearly completely turned off, one lone receptionist wearing her jacket, standing up and grabbing her purse with her keys in hand. Sam admired the speed with which shitty public school teachers and administration could shut a school down so fast when it was a Friday night. He squinted through the office's glass to see what time it was on the clock inside - three fifty-five.

Sam swore and ran for the doors, feeling himself starting to sweat. He burst out of the lobby, braced himself against the freezing wind and rain, and made a running bee-line for the bleachers.

The cuffs of his jeans were getting muddy as they pounded across the field. Sam tried to glance up a few times to spot his brother but he really couldn't without risking slipping or tripping on the cold, wet, uneven ground. He had to keep his eyes down and focused on his footing.

That was, until he got close enough to finally see Dean.

His brother.

Dean, his brother... whose normal demeanor when waiting for Sam to get out of school was that of a living, smoking (literally) gargoyle perched on the topmost bench of the bleachers.

Instead, he sighted his brother standing on the ground in front of the bleachers doing jumping jacks.

"_Dean_!?" Sam shouted, wondering what the hell was going on. As he got closer he noticed Dean didn't have his jacket on. It was windy and raining and Sam _knew_ he was running on fumes - what the hell did he think he was doing?

Dean just continued doing jumping jacks, his back to Sam, and Sam realized the wind had muffled his call to his brother. He let it go and continued his jog out, more and more intrigued as he spotted what looked like a small bundled-up child sitting on the lowest bleacher watching him.

Sam called, "hey," once, out of breath, a few yards away from Dean.

_Holy shit_, Sam thought, looking at the kid, _is he wearing Dean's jacket?!_

"_SAM_!"

The kid shouted, jumping off the bleacher and barreling towards him. Sam stopped dead, stunned, and Dean whipped around in time to see the kid ram into Sam and wrap his arms around him.

"Oscar! Whoa, Heyyy... buddy..." Sam drew the greeting out into a question at Dean as he patted the kid's head.

"He knows you?" Dean asked, pleasantly surprised, as he took a couple more steps towards them. Sam winced at his brother's appearance: Dean looked both sweaty and ill, eyes hollowed out, lips dry and cracked. Dean ignored Sam's transparent concern in favor of casually glancing at his watch. He gave it a double-take, eyes widening with his own worry.

"Oh shit," he muttered.

"Sam, I made a friend," Oscar said, pulling away and working his hand out of Dean's jacket's sleeve to grab onto Sam's. Sam went with it limply, still somewhat shocked. Oscar pointed at Dean. "Look!"

"Yeah, man, we know each other too," Dean replied to Oscar. He lifted his gaze up to Sam, "Sam we got a problem," he added in an undertone.

"How do you know each other?" Oscar asked, excited.

"Hold on a second, Oscar," Sam tugged Oscar's hand for emphasis and looked to his brother, "What's going on?"

Dean walked a few paces closer to them as he spoke.

"Um," Dean eyed Oscar, who'd begun swinging Sam's arm contentedly, "Oscar's aunt hasn't shown up to pick him up. Can you take him back to the school?"

"Why didn't you?"

"Thought she was just late. Lost track of time."

"You serious?" Sam asked, frustrated.

"Whatever man," Dean blew him off, "just take him back to the school. Let 'em call his aunt at the front desk. No big."

"Dean, it's too late. I saw them closing up the office when I left the building."

"Shit," Dean murmured. He washed a hand down his face and rubbed his eyes. Sam didn't say anything, not knowing what to do and willing to let Dean call the shots. He watched his brother slowly lull his head down to look at Oscar who was still holding Sam's hand and was now looking up at them with wide, trusting eyes.

Dean rolled his.

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**Writer's Note**: Okay this is definitely not a two-shot. It's going to be short though. Kind of similar to The House Edge. Also just fyi I'm not going to pull any weird What's-Eating-Gilbert-Grape crap & refuse to ID Oscar's condition. It'll be revealed eventually - but only when one of the characters mentions it explicitly. I can't pinpoint exactly why I'm doing it like that - it just feels right for whatever reason. Please comment/review if you can spare the time! Thank you so much for reading! ~ Alex


	3. Chapter 3

_"Dean, it's too late. I saw them closing up the office when I left the building."_

_"Shit," Dean murmured. He washed a hand down his face and rubbed his eyes. Sam didn't say anything, not knowing what to do and willing to let Dean call the shots. He watched his brother slowly lull his head down to look at Oscar who was still holding Sam's hand and was now looking up at them with wide, trusting eyes._

_Dean rolled his._

* * *

Dean shifted his stance and sighed as he bent down to look up at Oscar.

"Okay Oscar your aunt's running really late."

"Yeah. She should be here," he replied openly.

"Yeah," Dean muttered contemptuously, "she should," he finished, rubbing his hand down his face. He looked at his watch then at Sam as he stood back up. "We're gonna go over where his aunt should be picking him up and wait like fifteen more minutes."

"Okay," Sam nodded and looked down at Oscar, "c'mon bud we're gonna see if she'll still turn up okay?"

"Okay," Oscar replied, and they started walking.

"So Oscar," Dean started, smiling down at the kid.

"Yeah?"

"How do you know Sam?"

"Sam, he reads to me," Oscar replied happily. Dean grinned and looked at his brother. Sam smiled and rolled his eyes.

"We get paired up with fifth graders to help them read. Oscar's my reading buddy."

"Can Oscar read?" Dean asked, curious.

"Yeah!" Oscar answered defensively. "I can!"

Sam shrugged and nodded.

"Some, yeah," he said lightly, encouraging.

"Very cool, Oscar," Dean said evenly, raising his hand for a high five. Oscar laughed and tried to meet his palm with Dean's. He failed, given the heavy leather sleeve covering his hands.

"Why's he wearing your jacket, man?" Sam asked, "Aren't you cold?" He added, giving a furtive glance towards his brother, looking for any indication his older brother couldn't handle the weather.

"Kid was shaking when he came up to me at the bleachers," Dean shrugged.

"Was he wearing his jacket?"

"Yeah but it was retar-" Dean stopped as Sam's eyes widened. "I mean... uh..." Dean grappled with his words, somewhat confused by his own terminology, while they both glanced at Oscar. The slip had gone over his head. Dean huffed a relieved, awkward laugh, "had holes in it and shit."

"Shit!" Oscar shouted and started laughing, "you... said shit."

Sam gave Dean an exasperated look. Dean rolled his eyes and murmured "whatever" as they got to the spot Oscar had indicated was where his aunt normally picked him up. It was essentially a patch of trampled dead frosted land on the block's corner, easy to see from the bleachers. Sam realized Dean had been faced this way when he'd been doing jumping jacks earlier.

There was a useless chicken wire fence that bordered the corner and Dean strolled up and leaned against it. Oscar followed him, letting go of Sam's hand.

"Oscar c'mere," Dean beckoned and Oscar trundled his way to face him. Dean turned Oscar to the side and dug into the pockets of his jacket, pulling out his cigarettes and lighter.

"Real nice, Dean," Sam commented judgmentally as Dean lit his cigarette and put the pack and lighter into his back pockets.

"What?" Dean asked, then gestured towards Oscar. "I can tell Oscar's not gonna make these kinds 'a mistakes," Dean said happily, if not somewhat cryptically. Sam, again, rolled his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Smoking's bad, Dean," Oscar informed the big brother. Dean gave Oscar a withering look and Sam smiled.

"You should listen to him," Sam advised.

"Yeah," Oscar agreed, obviously bolstered by Sam's words.

Dean looked at Sam and held his gaze, dropping the mood into something intangibly sadder than his little brother had expected. Sam's smirk melted to concern, catching the exhaustion and pain in his brother's eyes.

Dean broke the look to glance at Oscar who was still standing before him, still anticipating a response. Dean looked down.

"Yeah I know," he said wearily, taking another puff.

Sam caught the body-shiver that went through his brother just then. Dean was supposed to be in bed asleep right now, not doing jumping jacks to keep warm while waiting for a kid to get picked up by an irresponsible relative.

"Dean, you thirsty?" Sam asked, pulling a water bottle out of his bag.

"God yeah," Dean sighed gratefully, reaching out for it. His balanced faltered at that, his footing almost getting the better of him until he leaned against the fence and used it to sink down into a crouch.

"Dean, you dizzy?"

"Just gimme the water I'll be all right," Dean grumbled, holding his head down between his knees while reaching out. Sam made sure he had a good hold of it before turning to Oscar.

"Hey Oz I want you to take that jacket off for a second-"

"What? Why?" Oscar asked, confused, while Sam worked his own jacket off.

"Just for a second, Oz," Sam promised. Oscar huffed and started wriggling out of the over-sized leather contraption.

"Sam, don't do that," Dean whined lowly, still facing the ground as he slurped from the water bottle.

"Dean it's cool I'm really warm right now anyway," Sam reassured lightly, knowing Dean wasn't in much of a position to throw his weight around as a big brother just yet anyway. He pulled his jacket all the way off and bit off a small yip of displeasure as a thick gust of freezing wind and rain pummeled him. He managed a whispered curse, then helped Oscar get Dean's jacket all the way off him.

Dean glanced dully at Sam's actions and waved a limp hand at Sam, a disapproving _do what you want Sam_ gesture. Sam retaliated by pitching Dean's rolled up jacket at his stomach. Dean jerked with surprised but caught it.

"Put it on," Sam called over the wind as he turned to help Oscar into his jacket. When he turned, Dean was pulling his collar up as high as possible as a barrier against the wind. Sam stood there, looking at the two of them, then turned around and squinted past the wind and rain, searching for even just the slightest glint or glimmer of a headlight on the roads. Hopefully Oscar's aunt would give them a ride home too.

There was nothing though. Sam stepped further out and into the street, _willing_ a car to arrive any second now.

"C'mon, c'mon," Sam whispered, rain water dripping into his eyes and mouth.

"Sammy get back here!" Dean's deep voice cut through the weather and Sam turned, seeing his brother standing now, his arm over Oscar's shoulders as the kid huddled in next to him. Sam jogged back to the fence, shivering cold, his hair wet. As soon as he came close enough Dean's arm shot out.

"C'mere, man," Dean coughed, pulling Sam against him. Sam went with it, pressing his back against his brother, trying to make himself smaller as he grabbed the folds of Dean's jacket and closed them in front.

"We gotta get out of this weather," Dean said, his head down, talking to both Oscar and Sam. "Oscar you're coming back home with us, okay?"

Sam nodded, wholeheartedly for this plan of action. He could feel his brother shaking against his back.

"The weather. It's bad!" Oscar shouted.

Both Sam and Dean managed to laughingly shout, "yeah!" back before Dean started nudging them forward. Oscar must've been okay with their plan because he went willingly, grabbing onto Dean's hand and holding it like he'd never let go. Sam moved to Dean's side, still under his brother's jacket, and wrapped his arm around his waist.

Sam had the entire walk to think about all the shit that could go wrong, gloriously backdropped by howling winds and a severe thunderstorm practically directly overhead. Dean managed their pace, every once in awhile bending down to listen to Oscar's breathing to make sure they weren't going too fast for him. Sam wanted to shoot out ahead and prep the room for their arrival but he was too worried about his brother. Dean's grip on him and Oscar never wavered but he still looked like death warmed over.

After four blocks, they finally reached the motel's parking lot. Sam was impressed Oscar hadn't complained once, the kid stoically trudging along with Sam and Dean, focus and determination in his eyes.

"Watch your step," Dean called.

"I know, Dean," Sam replied irritably.

"Wasn't talking to you, idiot," Dean shot back.

"Oh."

They stumbled their way up to the building and finally reached the shelter of the roof's overhang. Sam heard Dean breathing heavily over him and was about to detach to take stock of his condition when a throaty, thickly-accented voice boomed out.

"What the hell is this?!"

Sam turned and saw a huge bulldog of a man busting his way out of the motel's office at the end of the walkway. The rickety door slammed against the wall rivaling cracks of thunder as the manager bore down on them.

"What did I tell you? Huh? _What _did I tell you?!" Lars - Sam remembered his name now - shouted.

"De-"

"I got this, Sam, get Oscar into the room," Dean said sharply, shoving the key into Sam's hand while pushing him off and towards Oscar.

"But-"

"Damn it, boy, I said pay by six pm on _Thursday_." Lars roared. Dean gave Sam a severe look and Sam knew best not to argue.

"C'mon, Oscar, c'mon," Sam beckoned. Oscar's eyes were nearly frozen in terror watching the man approach. He snapped out of it when Sam started pulling him away and up to their door and gasped as the man walked right past them to face off against Dean. Sam made to close the door but stopped to watch through the crack as Lars stopped barely an inch in front of Dean, hovering over his big brother.

"What day is it?!" Lars shouted into Dean's face.

"Friday, sir."

Sam's jaw fell.

"And what day did I say you had to pay me?"

"Thursday, sir."

Dean was legitimately respectful. Why wasn't he being a smart ass?!

Sam felt a tugging on his sleeve.

"Sam! Sam get away!" Oscar pleaded. Sam shushed Oscar and turned back.

"-stopping me from calling the cops _right_ _now_ to get you and your little buddies off my goddamn property, huh!?"

"I can pay you right now - this past week and another week in advance - in cash, sir," Dean replied weakly.

"Let's see this," Lars challenged angrily, stepping back and lodging beefy hands against his hips. Sam could see his brother now, sorely pulling out a wad of cash from his jacket pocket rolled together by a rubber band.

Sam cringed. Dean hadn't had the time to separate the money: Lars was going to overcharge now that he'd seen it.

Dean peeled off bills and Lars held his hand open between them.

"This past week," Dean coughed, placing a stack onto the man's hands. He resumed the count for next week's charge.

"You sick, boy?"

"No, sir," Dean responded immediately, attempting to sound stronger. It didn't work but Lars said nothing. Dean finished counting the bills and handed him the next payment.

"Next week."

Lars took the money and stood there, recounting it, thoroughly ignoring Dean's miserable position, soaking wet and shivering before him under the blasts of winds that were only picking up speed.

"-Ssssaaam!" Oscar shouted from behind. It was too loud and Lars cocked his head towards their room. Sam gave a small gasp and backed away from the crack. He leaned forward when he heard Lars speaking again.

"This looks good, kid," Lars said roughly, "but, uh..."

Sam's heart sank, wondering what Lars was going to add to the charge.

"What about the retarded kid you got in there I saw? He staying with you too?"

Dean's respectful, stoic posture disappeared as he hunched, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked back up, Sam saw the defeat in his eyes.

"Lars, c'mon man, he's just a kid-"

"No. Wrong. He's a third occupant. That's ten more per night _besides_ whatever damage he does to the room while he stays."

Dean and Sam unconsciously reacted with the same expression of furious indignation.

"What the fuck? He's not going to damage anything in this toilet you call-"

"_Do you want out_?" Lars shouted, silencing the older brother. "Because I will _gladly_ kick _all_ your asses out in the pouring _fucking_ rain right now, Dean. Do you want that?!"

Dean bit his lip, his jaw clenched, his eyes livid.

"No, sir."

"Good," Lars said definitively and paused, letting time move and the rain fall loudly around them. "So we have an understanding," Lars stated and shot his empty palm out again. Dean gave a frustrated sigh, eyed Lars as he peeled a ten off the roll of cash, and slapped it into Lars' hand.

"He only staying for the night?" Lars asked.

"Yeah," Dean sneered. Lars stayed there, probably trying to stare Dean down into giving up what he thought was a lie. Dean didn't back down an inch.

"Good," Lars finally said, backing away, then pointed at Dean, "You better not take advantage of me on that," he warned angrily, before stepping back one more time to turn around and walk back to the office.

Released from the exchange - Lars' lumbering back to his office den of porn mags and Cheetos - Dean looked up, his eyes closed, and just breathed. Sam thought of it like Dean was re-centering himself. Normally his brother would punch shit or go out to get drunk right now but Sam knew _Dean _knew he couldn't afford the irresponsibility in those options at the moment.

Sam watched him slowly roll his head, stretching his neck, then lower his gaze to meet Sam's surprised eyes through the crack.

"D'you get all that?" Dean asked bitterly.

Knowing the ruse was up, Sam opened the door all the way.

"Sorry," he murmured, slightly ashamed to have witnessed that.

Dean walked slowly towards him. As he passed through the doorway he ruffled Sam's wet hair.

"S'okay," he whispered sadly, his voice taking on a scratchy, raw quality Sam didn't like.

* * *

**Writer's Note**: Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	4. Chapter 4

Dean walked in and the first thing he said was for Sam to take his pants off - he was dragging mud all over the floor. Sam started undoing his jeans and murmured for Oscar to take his jackets off.

"What?"

"Take your jackets off, Oz," Sam repeated patiently, slipping out of his jeans.

"Why're you taking your pants off?"

"They're wet," Sam answered, "Dean?"

Dean was pacing slowly in thought. At the sound of his name he blinked out of his thoughts and, ignoring his brother's call, moved over to Oscar.

"Hey Oscar?"

Oscar stopped working with his jackets and looked into Dean's eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have anyone we can call? Anyone else to come pick you up instead of your Aunt?"

Oscar started shaking his head when Dean had asked his first question. Sam's spirits fell.

"I don't know," Oscar answered.

"Nobody? No other adult? A family friend maybe?"

"Um..." Oscar screwed his face up into deep concentration. He instantly brightened after a second. "Jenny!"

"Who's-" Dean glanced at Sam who'd just tapped Dean's shoulder to shake his head at him, "What? Who's Jenny?"

"Jenny's my friend," Oscar said at the same time Sam murmured to Dean.

"Jenny's his aide at school," Sam supplied.

"Well. Okay. Can we call her? Oscar do you know her phone number?"

"No I don't know," Oscar replied.

"Okay uh... well how 'bout her last name?" Dean asked, grasping at straws. Maybe she was listed.

"Jenny's awesome," Oscar informed happily, having missed Dean's question. Instead of repeating himself he looked to his brother who shrugged.

"No I don't know her last name."

Dean deflated and let go of his line of questioning.

"Okay," he murmured.

"Sorry," Sam added, genuinely apologetic. "But y'know Dean she's just his aide and it's a Friday night. Even if we did get a hold of her I doubt she'd be willing to get involved, you know?" Sam tried to rationalize for Dean's sake. Dean made a face.

"Well we'll never know," he replied. His words were bitter but he said them wearily before moving into the kitchen. Sam sighed, sad for his brother. This day just wouldn't end.

"Oz can you get the jackets off?"

Oscar turned and, at the reminder, resumed working them off.

"Yeah I can."

"Good... cool..." Sam replied distractedly, grabbing a pair of jeans for himself from his duffel on his bed. Before putting them on he walked into the kitchen where Dean had the phone lodged between his head and shoulder, curious.

"What're you doing?" Sam whispered, unsure whether Dean was on the line. Dean had a finger on a number listed on the fridge and had begun to dial when he glanced at Sam and gave him a double take.

"Sam, go watch the kid - what're you doing?" Dean waved him off, annoyed. Sam made a face. "And put your pants on," Dean added in a whisper, finishing the number and quirking a small smile. Sam rolled his eyes and made to go back to help Oscar with his jackets when whoever Dean was calling picked up. Sam quieted to listen to his brother, confusion still written all over his face.

"Yeah, hi. My name's John Walsh," Dean began, then spotted Sam's expression and used his hand to indicate the numbers five and zero. Sam blanched but Dean ignored it, "and my sons just came into the house with a schoolmate of theirs' whose, uh, aunt, I think... didn't come to pick him up after school today."

Dean listened, covering the phone's receiver, and whispered to Sam.

"What's Oscar's last name?"

"Gideon," Sam replied. Dean nodded.

"Well we're staying at the Windy Side Inn at the moment. I'm on a short-term assignment at work - three months or less - so I figured I'd save some money just staying at a hotel," Dean closed his eyes as he spoke, leaning his forehead against the fridge, hoping to God the officer he was talking to didn't know how much of a stretch it was to call this place a 'hotel.'

"Mm hm. Yeah. His full name's Oscar Gideon, fifth grade. Goes to Logan Junior High with my youngest son, Sam. School got closed before they could talk to the school's administration to phone the aunt."

Dean turned to lean his back against the fridge, exhausted. His voice still held a level of casual authority though; Sam knew he was passing perfectly well as a parent. Sam glanced around wearing a worried expression that quickly shifted to vague amusement when he spotted Oscar standing between the two beds struggling with getting his jackets off. He was making enough progress; Sam felt all right to stay where he was to continue openly eavesdropping on his brother.

Dean was nodding his head at the receiver when Sam looked back.

"Yeah, yeah, it's no problem. He can stay with us until you contact her," Dean hesitated, looking at Sam, his tone going soft, "but, uh, I just want to put it out there that Oscar's got special needs, yeah... Down Syndrome," he added. "We can take care of him for awhile until you contact his guardian but it's probably in everyone's best interest to put a priority on this, you know?"

"Sam..." Oscar called. Sam startled and turned, finding the boy behind him.

"What's up Oz?" Sam whispered, starting to pull off the last hanging remnant of the kid's own jacket and throwing it on the bed.

"I'm cold," Oscar groaned miserably. Sam nodded, whispered, "okay," and moved over to grab the threadbare comforter from the closest bed - Dean's. Sam continued listening to his brother as he wrapped the blanket around the small boy.

"Yeah, yeah exactly," he said levelly, smiling kindly, eyes unfocused. One look at Dean and relief rushed through Sam at his brother's tone and bearing. Things were going to be okay.

Well.

As long as Oscar would stop shivering soon.

Sam pulled the kid closer and started rubbing his shoulders and back with the blanket.

"Th-thanks," Oscar murmured.

"Of course. The number's five-five-five, eight-two-six, four-zero-two-nine," Dean read off the fridge, "but hey, listen, if you get a hold of anyone tonight, I'll be on a night shift so my eldest son, Dean's, going to be answering, all right?"

Dean listened, squinting his eyes.

"Two months and he'll be eighteen. I assure you he's very responsible... No, he's not here right now. He went out to grab dinner for the kids tonight," Dean cringed, knowing this was getting vaguely dangerous. He sighed.

"Yeah. Yeah. Sounds good. Thank you. All right. Who am I speaking to again?" Dean listened. "Officer Kendra Collins, all right. Well thank you so much for your help. All right. You too. Bye."

Dean hung up and immediately started dialing another number. He glanced over as it started ringing on the other end and shot his brother and Oscar a confused expression.

"What's with the blanket?" He whispered.

"He's cold," Sam answered, shrugging, as he continued trying to warm Oscar up. Dean nodded, not thinking anything of it, and waited with a dull expression, still watching his two charges. The call picked up and Dean jumped back to his normal, more animated demeanor.

"Candy hey-" Dean stopped, sounding like he'd just gotten interrupted. Sam raised an eyebrow, wondering if Dean was really calling one of his hook-ups right now.

"Candy, look I'm sorry but I'm not coming to work tonight," Dean said, his speech somewhat faster than normal in order to get it all out before getting cut off again. Sam nodded to himself, realizing he should've known Dean was calling Candace, his boss at the bar. He smirked when, after Dean had finished his sentence, his older brother cringed and pulled the phone away from his ear. Garbled shouts and threats issued forth from the phone and into the kitchen.

"Whoa," Oscar said, his eyes on the receiver Dean was holding.

"I know," Dean agreed lowly, comedic sincerity in his wide eyes looking directly into Oscar's. Oscar giggled and Dean checked to see if he could bring the phone back to his head without blowing out an eardrum.

"Candy, do what you need to but I'm not coming in. I'll call you tomorrow," Dean said evenly if not just as rapidly as before. With that he hung up and stared at the phone anxiously for a few seconds before relaxing. He rubbed a hand down his face and sighed.

"Ya gonna call dad?" Sam asked openly. Dean's brows furrowed in serious thought.

"Yeah... not yet though," he glanced at the clock indicating five o'clock.

"Okay," Sam said, his voice small but approving. Dean sighed and walked towards them.

"C'mon," he murmured as he made his way into the main area of the motel and sat down on the side of his bed. Sam and Oscar followed, Oscar keeping close and sitting right next to Sam on the bed across from Dean.

Dean looked stricken, his face hollowed out, bags under his eyes.

"Dean you should sleep," Sam said. Dean raised an eyebrow and shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Unfortunately what I should do and what I can't do are the same things, Sammy," Dean muttered and turned to the kid under Sam's arm, "Oscar."

"Yeah?"

"What's your aunt's name?" Dean asked, vaguely realizing that detail could've been asked before he'd called the cops to help them. Still, Officer Collins had seemed confident they'd be able to find his guardian after he'd given Oscar's full name.

"Karen," he replied immediately.

"Cool. Does your Aunt Karen normally do this?"

"Do what?"

Dean sought his mind for the simplest way to describe their situation.

"Does Aunt Karen usually forget to pick you up from school?" Sam saved. Oscar looked up at Sam and shook his head.

"No, never. She never forgets."

Sam looked to his brother wearing a conflicted expression. Dean returned it.

"I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing," Dean murmured bluntly, saying what both of them had been thinking.

"What do you mean?" Oscar asked. "Is she okay?"

"We don't know, bud," Dean answered honestly, "but we told the police and they're looking for her right now."

For the first time since Dean had met him a genuinely worried expression crossed Oscar's face.

"What if something happened?" He asked, his distress clear.

"We'll know soon if something happened, Oscar, but it doesn't help to worry about it right now, okay bud?" Dean replied, trying to allay the kid's fears. Dean was just thinking about how distractions work better than admonishments against worrying when Sam spoke up, apparently telepathic.

"Oz," Sam corrected, giving a small smile. Oscar looked up at Sam, recognizing his name.

"What?"

"No, I'm telling Dean your nickname," Sam explained, then looked at Dean, "he likes Oz."

"S'cool," Dean replied glibly, nodding, slightly zoned out. He was still tired as hell. Luckily Oscar ran with it.

"Yeah! Like the wizzer!"

Dean blinked as Sam huffed a laugh.

"Wizard," he supplied.

"Yeah. S'what I said," Oscar said. Dean shook his head, grinning.

"He should watch it with that word," Dean chuckled good-naturedly. Sam rolled his eyes, smiling, then looked quizzically at Dean.

"How'd you guys even meet anyway?"

Dean leaned back a bit while Sam remained sitting up straight, his arm around Oz who was still huddled next to him with the blanket wrapped around. Dean could tell the kid had, thank god, lost his shakes. Now he seemed to be leaning against Sam for the hell of it. Dean figured Oz must just be an affectionate kid. Worked well for Sammy, Dean figured, given Sam's own predilection for all that crap.

Also though Dean had to admit the kid was genuinely cute. Light, thin brown hair cut short with bangs, a brilliant smile that spotlighted a couple missing teeth, and well, while Dean knew this was a trait of the syndrome, Oscar's small, slightly stout physique made him look like a sturdy little bear-hugger. The thought made Dean smile slightly before answering his brother.

"Kid just walked up to me at the bleachers."

Sam's eyes widened, gave a furtive glance to Oscar, then looked back at his brother.

"He just came up to you? Jenny wasn't there?"

Dean shook his head, frowning.

"Nope. Just walked up to me," Dean shrugged. "Told me it was cold out."

"It was. It was cold out," Oscar chimed in. Sam turned to look down at the kid.

"Oz what made you go up to Dean?"

Oz returned Sam's gaze with innocent eyes.

"I don't know."

Sam looked back to his brother, eyebrow raised, and Dean immediately caught on and started chuckling.

"Yeah... So, Oz," Dean began, grinning.

"What?"

"You ever see someone that looks like me and you're alone, don't come up to them," Dean laughed. Oscar looked confused.

"But you looked sad," Oscar said.

"Even if they look sad," Dean replied immediately, smiling, and thoroughly unwilling to look at Sam's concerned expression over Oscar's observation.

"Why?" Oscar pressed.

"I'm a bad influence," Dean shared. Oscar looked up at Sam for confirmation. Sam's solicitous expression shifted when he realized Oz had turned to him.

"It's true," Sam said jokingly, "Dean's terrible."

Oscar mimicked Sam's smile, getting the gist that their advice wasn't entirely important if they were goofing around about it.

"If he's so bad why are _you_ with him?" Oscar asked Sam excitedly, happy to banter.

Dean quietly started chuckling at the question the same time Sam jerked his head back slightly, surprised.

"He's... Dean's my brother, Oz," Sam said quickly, still surprised Oscar hadn't picked up on that. A second later he realized it was maybe a greater thought jump than Oz was used to making since the kid's eyes widened with delight.

"No!" He shouted, then looked at Dean in disbelief. Dean was almost lying on the bed completely now, his general air of authority gone and in its place the playful, mischievous side of Sam's big brother.

"Yes!" Dean said in hushed excitement. Oz caught on and he smiled.

"Nooo!"

"Yeahhhh!" Dean matched Oscar, eventually letting it fall into his own smoker's cackle as Oz turned back to Sam, then to Dean, then back to Sam.

"You're brothers?!"

"Yup," Sam drew the word out dryly, making it sound like a regrettable relation.

"Shut up," Dean chuckled softly. Oz ignored it as he looked back to Dean.

"You're bigger," he observed. Dean lazily pushed a pillow up against the headboard and gave up being fully upright. He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded.

"Yup," he sighed, closing his eyes for just a second.

"You're the _big_ brother!" Oz announced and Dean smiled.

"Yeah Dean's my older brother, Oz," Sam confirmed and subtly corrected. 'Older' was what Sam called Dean; 'big,' he'd realized awhile ago, sounded too childish.

Oz looked up at Sam, missing all that.

"So... so you're a little brother?"

Sam held back another correction even when he saw Dean smirking out of the corner of his eye.

"Ah," Sam sighed, "unfortunately, yes," Sam finished, again dryly.

"Sammy's the baby of the family," Dean said, grinning, his eyes still closed.

"Dean-"

"Who's Sammy?"

"No-"

"I call Sam Sammy, Oz," Dean replied.

"Dean-!" Sam whined.

"Cool! Sammy!" Oz giggled and Sam made a face at his brother, who'd opened an eye to watch and was now smiling like an idiot. "Sammy, what do you call Dean?"

"Jerk," Sam replied, not missing a beat, and Oz peeled into laughter as Dean's expression shifted to disapproval.

"Sammy and Jerk," Oz laughed and despite the substance, both Sam and Dean kind of appreciated the joviality Oz was bringing to the table.

"We could do stand-up," Dean idly joked to Sam as Oz composed himself. Sam gave his brother a begrudging smile.

Dean sighed and looked at his watch.

"Okay you guys hungry? I was thinking-"

Dean was interrupted by a couple loud bangs on the door that put both brothers on instant alert. They waited, quiet, and Sam shushed Oscar.

"Hello? It's the police-"

Dean jolted up out of bed and walked to the door. Before opening it he scanned the room to make sure everything looked okay. Sam was already pulling the blanket off Oscar so the kid didn't look weird.

"-just following up on a call. Anyone in there?" A few more relaxed knocks on the door.

"Yeah sorry dude," Dean called out, affecting a slightly higher pitch and taking cues from his earlier mental note to use colloquial slangs to contrast against his voice when he'd called as his father. He waited a couple seconds, visibly prepped himself to lie convincingly about their back story, and opened the door.

Dean was about to speak but stopped, mouth agape, to stare in shock at the officer at his door.

"Dean?"

Dean tried to swallow but his mouth was dry with mounting anxiety.

"Jack?"

* * *

**Writer's Note 1**: Cliffhanger! lol. Just to be helpful - if you're drawing a blank on Jack reread the beginning of Ch 1.

**Writer's Note 2**: Got a few questions about ages last chapter - within the story I've mentioned Oscar's in fifth grade (so yes exactly around ten years old :) and Dean's a couple months away from turning eighteen (although since it's October in this story it's more like three months but whatever). Sam's thirteen.

As for Oscar & his general school curriculum, I conceived of a schedule where some of his classes were inclusion-oriented while others were special-needs-only classes. More and more school systems in this day & age are going the _all_-inclusion route (which I'm all for) but back in the 90's it was pretty normal - even maybe somewhat progressive - to have kids with special needs attend many classes with same-aged, typical peers. So it was during one of these classes that Sam came in with his 8th grade class, met Oscar & became his designated Reading Buddy. Mostly he got to have fun reading to Oz a couple times a week. :)

**Writer's Note 3**: Thank you so much for reading (and the # of reviews last chapter blew me away - thank you so much, guys, really!)!


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